I was the lowest scoring student, and yet art class was entirely therapeutic for me. My inability to achieve a satisfactory grade meant that She left me alone, almost to my own devices, whereas my peers had their creativity sucked from their very soul with her critical manner and archaic philosophies.
I was eventually pulled from the lesson and placed back in Latin, for the purpose of ensuring I got straight As. But I didn't need to learn how to draw, I was a writer you see, even then. They wanted to paint the world red; but I wanted scarlet, cherry, ruby, blood, cardinal.. But art class did teach me one thing; that there is beauty in this world regardless of whether you understand it or not. And your lack of understanding doesn't make it wrong. So as she bellowed at me in her shrill voice, "I don't understand what this is saying to me!" I'd simply reply, "That's because it's speaking to me, not you". An offering of teenage art, plagued by lack of talent and a heavy dose of not-really-giving-a-fuck:
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorThe tornado of roses, with all the chaos and less of the beauty.. Archives
December 2017
|